No Envy, No Fear
by Ksue
Summary: One-shot. Post Olympics 2012. Payson doesn't feel like she's beautiful, and Sasha tries to convince her otherwise. REVIEW PLEASE!


**A/N: I just sat down and pounded this out in about half an hour. I haven't spent a whole lot of time editing, so I apologize for any mistakes, and it's very different than I intended so I'm not sure I'm totally happy with it, but I thought I'd let you guys see it anyway. **

**Anyway, this is just a little Payson/Sasha moment after the London 2012 Olympics. I was inspired by Joshua Radin's song "No Envy, No Fear," hence the title. Gorgeous song, and I thought it kind of fit Payson.**

**Enjoy!**

Payson shifts uncomfortably in her grey dress; the silk sheath ghosts across her skin, clinging to her new hips and chest, swirling around her knees. She feels like an imposter, the Incredible Hulk among picture perfect Barbie dolls. Looking down at the club soda in her hands, she wishes she were anywhere else and curses Ronnie Cruz for insisting on a celebratory reception for the Rock Rebels, post-Olympic victory. Kaylie and Lauren look totally comfortable, gliding around the room and flirting with men they don't know. She watches as Kaylie flips her long brown hair over her shoulder and giggles at something one of those men said. Lauren stands next to her, reaching out to touch the forearm of a man who's made her laugh. Even Emily has the feminine wiles down; gazing adoringly at Damon as he twirls her around the room. They all look so at ease in their pretty dresses and high heels, in full make-up with their hair perfectly done. Even after all the post-Olympic press, Payson feels out of place in high heels. She can't take a step without wobbling, which is part of why she's been sitting at the bar all night. The other part is because she'd rather hide than let people see her scramble and flounder, comparing her to her teammates. _She's so pretty, too bad she's an ungraceful fool. Look at the way she moves, so boyish. Someone should have taught her to act like a lady._

"Having fun?" Payson almost smiles at the soft, smooth British accent. He leans up against the bar next to her, his forearms resting on the polished wood, holding some kind of dark liquid in a glass tumbler. Very James Bond.

"Not really," she sighs.

"You look lovely," he says softly, glancing at her. She rolls her eyes.

"Thank you," she responds, not sincere at all. He frowns.

"Why do you say it that way?" he asks, taking a small sip. She admires the way his lips press against the glass, briefly remembering the time she kissed him after practice. A blush creeps up her cheeks, she can feel it blazing a path across her skin, and she shrugs, trying not to let him see how he affects her.

"It's not true," she says.

"What's not true?"

"I don't look lovely, Sasha. Kaylie looks lovely. I look…out of place," Payson says, unable to find the right word.

"You're just as lovely as Kaylie. More, even." Something in his voice makes her look at him. She's heard it before, a million times, low and husky. It's an invitation, to what she doesn't know, and just like always she doesn't take it. It scares her, the way his eyes travel her body, the way he drinks her in, the way he looks like he wouldn't push her away if she kissed him again. She always thinks she must be misreading his gaze, because men don't look at her _that way_, but then he'll do it again and take her breath away, and she doesn't know what else it could be.

"I…no, I'm not," she finally says, tearing her eyes away from his.

"What makes you think that, Payson? Haven't we been through this before?" He sounds tired. He turns, leaning back on his elbows and surveying the people.

"That's gymnastics, it's different. Kaylie and Lauren were born to do this," she says, waving at them. "They know how to work a room, how to be…women. All I know is how to be an athlete."

Sasha sets down his drinks and grabs her hand, pulling her towards the dance floor in the middle of the room.

"What are you doing?" she hisses, digging her heels in just a little. Her eyes fly around the room, desperate to find a way out. She doesn't need people watching her make a fool of herself.

"We're dancing," he says simply. He pulls her to the center of the floor, wrapping one arm around her waist and taking her right hand in his. Payson doesn't know how to dance, at least not the way she and Sasha are dancing, but she tries to relax in his arms because she trusts him. Long ago she decided that her trust in Sasha outweighed her fear of almost anything; anything but that look in his eyes.

She pulls herself closer, her arm resting against his back as she grips his shoulder. He holds her tightly, his palm pressing insistently against her low back, bringing their torsos flush against one another. Payson feels her breath hitch in her throat as his fingers gently trace her scars through the dress.

"What exactly is this supposed to prove?" Payson asks, pulling back just enough to look him in the eye. He stares at her _that way_ again and she shivers.

"That you're more woman than you think you are," Sasha whispers. "Look around, every eye in the place is on you."

She risks a glance over his shoulder and, sure enough, everyone is watching them sway together. Her skin itches under the weight of their stares.

"Because…"

"Because you're beautiful."

This time when he looks at her _that way_, it's too much. The heat of his skin against her back and the solid wall of his chest against hers and the way their thighs brush every time they move, it's too much. She twists out of his embrace.

"I have to go," she says, her voice strangled. She flees the room as quickly as she dares, trying to navigate in her heels. Bursting through the French doors and spilling onto the patio, she takes deep, gulping breaths. She always feels like all the air leaves the room when she and Sasha have moments like that.

She hears the doors open behind her and turns to see Sasha striding towards her, wearing _that_ look, only more intense now than she's ever seen it. He reaches for her, taking her face in his hands and tilting her head up, towards his.

"What are you doing?" Payson asks, placing her hands flat against his chest even though she doesn't know yet if she's going to push him away or pull him closer. Panic blooms in her chest, pressing down, suffocating her. She isn't ready for this. If Sasha kisses her, he'll know she's an imposter. He'll realize he was wrong, that she really can't hold a candle to Kaylie or Lauren, and she doesn't think she can stand that.

"I'm done telling you how bloody gorgeous you are. I'm showing you."

Then his lips are on hers. Payson expected Sasha to be a patient kisser, just like he's a patient coach, but he isn't. He devours her, pressing his lips firmly against hers until she parts for him and he sweeps his tongue inside. He holds her so tightly that they stumble back, her legs connecting with the patio table. She grunts around his lips and he makes a noise in the back of his throat; half growl and half groan. One of his hands sneaks up into her hair, sifting through the loose curls.

"Sasha," she gasps as their lips separate just enough for her to draw a breath. He groans again, and this time it sounds like there's a whimper behind it. Payson never thought Sasha was the type of man who whimpered.

"Do you see what you do to me, Payson?" He asks, pressing his forehead against hers. "Do you believe me now?"

"I…" It's now or never, she knows. She's afraid, breathing too fast, though that may be more from the kissing than the fear, but she takes the leap. She trusts Sasha to keep her heart safe.

"I love you."

**Review! Also, go read and review the latest chapter of For You, the World (unless you already did yesterday, and in that case...thanks!)!**


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